The Detective's Daughter
by Queen-of-the-TARDIS
Summary: No one ever expected Molly Hooper to die. Especially not by child-birth. But the pathologist has indeed passed on, leaving behind the precious brown-haired babe. And Sherlock is the father. Now he must raise the baby as a single parent, but not without the help of his best friend. On his way, Sherlock will learn the true meanings of love and happiness. Caring IS an advantage.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey guys, it's me. I've been on hiatus for a while and haven't posted any updates for any fics lately, I still have a bloody writer's block for them...but then this idea popped into my head while I was playing with my 5 (almost 6) month old cousin. I hope you all enjoy this while I update and wait for my writer's block for my other fics to go "Laters!" Te he...**

* * *

SUMMARY: No one ever expected Molly Hooper to die. Especially not by child-birth. But the pathologist has indeed passed on, leaving behind the precious brown-haired babe. And Sherlock is the father. Now he must raise the baby as a single parent, but not without the help of his best friend. On his way, Sherlock will learn the true meanings of love and happiness, and maybe realize that caring IS an advantage. Here I give you the heartfelt story of growing up and overcoming hardship in the life of Laura Christina Allison Holmes. Comedy/Family with sad undertones.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

October 15, 2041

"Hello diary, old friend. It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, I've come upon my twenty-eighth year and have taken up Da's job as a consulting detective. Him and Uncle John are old blokes now and have retired. Now they spend all day bickering like an old couple (which they are not, they've just been best mates (and flatmates), for an age) watching telly, and playing cluedo. I'm living in 221A with my husband and two children. The flat was the land-lady, Mrs. Hudson's. She passed away of natural causes a few years back. I loved her. She always spoiled me and gave me sweets every time I would go down to visit her.

Anyways, as I was saying, I'm the new consulting detective of Baker Street, and the Holmes every one goes to for cases, (my husband watches the kids, I get to go out and solve crimes, ha, ha...and sometimes Da helps, well, from his couch...), me and my colleague, Marina Adler. Da says the wavy dark-haired 26-year-old looks like "The Woman", Irene Adler (by the way her mother, obviously, so, no shit Sherlock...I mean...Irene's her mum, Da). Anyway, no cases are happening now, because Megan Lestrade-Holmes (sister-in-law, My Uncle Mycroft is married to the retired Detective Inspector Lestrade, Megan's his kid) gave me a few days off (which I don't need) and my husband and children are in bed, and I'm positively bored and have no interest in going up to 221B and playing Cluedo with two bickering old men. So, I decided to type up a story of the life I've lived so far. Don't ask why. Just know I will be telling it through Da and Uncle's point of views, rather than my own. So, enjoy."

-Laura Christina Allison Holmes,

Consulting Detective, 221A, Baker Street


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Sherlock wakes up to find his long, pale arms wrapped around the small female figure against him, spooning her, with his nose pressed into her soft brown hair. It takes him only a moment to realize the woman is Molly and that he is wearing nothing, and neither is she. He feels a bit ashamed of his state, and even more so because he realizes what happened last night. The body of Molly stirs and she opens her eyes, adjusting her shoulders and turning her head slightly to see him. "Good morning, Sherlock." She says, her voice a bit raspy from sleep, but still beautiful.

"Molly." He replies.

Then Molly turns her head and looks at the time. "Oh! Dear me, I'm late!" In a swift movement, she scrambles out of bed and grabs the discarded clothing of hers on the floor, and sets off to the bathroom.

Sherlock chuckles, "Molly," he says, "It's Sunday."

Molly blushes, "I forgot." She says simply. There is an awkward silence.

"Well, are you going to stand there or come lay with me?"

Molly puts back on her under garments and Sherlock's dressing gown before she goes to lie down beside Sherlock, pressing against him as he cuddles her again.

"I don't feel up to getting out of bed today." Sherlock says simply.

"Neither do I, Sherlock." So they don't. He kisses her softly on the lips before they close their eyes again.

Sherlock and Molly had been together for a bit now. After she had broken up with Tom and gotten over her anger with Sherlock (who had just broken up with Janine), he had admitted his feelings for her. They had gone on a few dates and officially became "boyfriend and girlfriend". Everything was good, well, except for the fact that Sherlock had "much to learn", Molly said, and the brunette hadn't seen much of John lately. He hadn't really had a case in a while either, and found himself distracted by Molly. They balanced one another out, they did, but Sherlock still missed his best friend, because, although he was happy with Molly, Molly wasn't John, and John wasn't Molly, and you can't just replace John Watson. So, thus, he separated his best friend and girlfriend in his mind palace. He also decided he just couldn't be complete without either of them.

xXx

Sherlock blinks open his eyes to blinding sunlight, discovering that the bed sheets are cold beside him and Molly Is gone. He also sees that it Is almost five o'clock. He yawns and gets out of bed, and checks his phone, there is a text from Molly.

"**Sorry Sherlock, I didn't wake you to tell you I was going home, I was feeling rather sick, but I'm okay now, and I wanted to let you sleep. (You look so cute when you're sleeping.) Anyway, I have to feed the cat and get ready for work tomorrow. I'll see you soon though, okay? I love you."**

**-Molly **

"**No, it's fine. I understand. I love you too. Hope you're okay. See you soon."**

**-SH **

Sherlock smiles to himself and sends the reply text. He then decides he'll text John later, but right now, he needs to shower. He grabs some fresh clothes and then heads off to the bathroom.

xXx

Molly wakes up Monday morning to work, only to feel totally miserable. She'd felt like this upon waking up on Sunday, and couldn't sleep, she had hurled in the bathroom and gotten a cab home, not wanting Sherlock to get what she had, and went to sleep the moment she hit her pillow. She thought sleep would help, but she wakes up and has a pounding headache and pain in her lower side, and still feels nauseous. She decides to call in sick to work. Afterward, she lays in bed a few moments until her tabby comes scratching and mewing at her door. She puts on her dressing gown and goes into the living room to feed her cat, still feeling sick. She drinks a huge glass of water and decides to shower, hoping she might feel better. It helps a bit, and she lays on the couch and watches telly, and takes a few cat naps, feeling more like herself as the day progresses.

xXx

The next day, she decides to go back to work. She gets dressed and showers slower than usual though, and finds herself late to work.

Despite being late, the day carries on like normal, and everything seems fine. She calls Sherlock at lunch break, and they share a few laughs and jests. After break, she goes back to work, but then suddenly feels awful again. She tries to ignore it, and file a few reports. She starts feeling light-headed. Suddenly, without knowing, she collapses.

xXx

A cold compress is pressed to her head when Molly wakes up. She sees Dr. Watson beside her bed, his face etched with concern.

"What happened?" She asks, a bit delirious.

"You blacked out for 5 minutes." John says, "Your boss said you were out sick yesterday. She also said you came back feeling better."

"I felt perfectly okay this morning, until lunch, and I started feeling awful again. That's all I remember."

"Well you gave us all a scare." John adds.

"Is...Sherlock here?" Molly asks.

"He was a bit ago. But Lestrade phoned him about an urgent case and he went to Scotland Yard. But he told me to tell you that he loves you and to get well soon." John replied. Awkward silence.

"Oh." Molly's face falls, "I love him too." She says, "So...umm, do you know what's wrong with me?"

John seems to chuckle, "Nothing is wrong with you, Molly." John says, "But Mary suggested you do a pregnancy test."

"What?" A look of shock appears on Molly's face.

"She thinks you might be expecting."

"Oh, this is bad...what is Sherlock going to say? He can't know about this... He won't want a baby!"

"Molly, Molly calm down." John soothes, "Although he might act like one on occasion, Sherlock is not a heartless bastard. I honestly don't think he would mind someone to be carrying a child with his DNA. But I won't tell him, I'll let you. But first, do a test to be sure, alright?"

Molly nods, "Thank you, Dr. Watson." She says.

"Of course."

xXx

A few days later, the results come in positive. Molly is pregnant, and she thinks she is doomed, and decides not to tell Sherlock about the baby.

xXx


	3. Chapter 2

There's not very many things that can baffle Sherlock Holmes. Well, except maybe women. Ever since that Sunday, Sherlock noticed that Molly was acting rather strange. She was more awkward, moodier, and jumpy. They hadn't gone on near as many dates, and spent more time communicating through text than actually seeing each other. He also noticed that she avoided him. Every time he went to Bart's to investigate a body for a case, she was never there. Instead, there was a different pathologist, very young, early twenties, and quite shy. He asked her what happened to Molly, and she simply shrugged. Then one day, he just stopped hearing from her, as if she had just vanished. It had been nine months since this strangeness happened and he hadn't seen Molly for almost six. He thinks that maybe they had rushed their relationship and Molly was embarrassed and ashamed of them...of him.

xXx

Finally, Sherlock has just had it. He gets a cab and goes to Molly's flat. He hopes she'll answer this time, as she hadn't, the past several times he attempted a visit. He knocks thrice, loudly on the door of the flat. No answer. He waits. He knocks again. Still no answer. He rings her doorbell. Again, no answer. He tries calling Molly, the phone rings and rings and rings, then goes to voice-mail. He huffs and pockets his phone. He bangs on the door again and then rings the doorbell to the flat below. This time a snobbish-looking teenage girl in a dressing gown answers. "What do you want?" She asks rather rudely, "I was sleeping."

"At half-passed noon?" Sherlock snorts arrogantly.

"Uhh, yeah. We sleep late, sir." She snorts back, "Anyway, what do you want?"

"I just needed someone to answer the door." Sherlock shrugs.

"Who are you?" demands the girl.

"Sherlock Holmes. Partner of your neighbor, Molly Hooper. Now, if you'll please let me through."

"Whatever." She scoffs and goes back into her flat, slamming and locking the door.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and climbs the stairs to Molly's flat. He rings the bell and then knocks. His only response is scratching and mewing behind the door. No one answers. Finally, Sherlock finds Molly's spare key, under her welcome mat, of course, typical spot, and opens the door. Molly's dark brown tabby runs out, circles,then rubs up, against Sherlock's ankles, purring, and runs back inside. Sherlock enters too. The flat is dark. He flicks on the light. A quick deduction shows him no one has been home in a couple of days. The cat bowl is empty. Sherlock quickly fills it with food and water, and Fitzwilliam the cat eats greedily. As he eats, Sherlock tries to contemplate on what happened to Molly. She couldn't have moved, she would have taken Fitzwilliam and her furniture. Perhaps she just went on a holiday? No, she wouldn't leave Fitzwilliam by himself. Work? Ha. Not on a Saturday. Running errands? No, the flat had been unoccupied for at least two days. He rules out several other possibilities and his mind gradually goes to darker thoughts. Had she been kidnapped and missing for 6 months? No way the police wouldn't have figured that out by now. Dead? Please no. God no. Molly Hooper couldn't be dead. Not so soon after the death of Mary Watson. "She's not dead." He says aloud. The more he contemplates, the more he falls into despair. He huffs and plops down on Molly's couch. He loves her so much. He wishes he could see her again. He takes a breath and tries calling her mobile. A loud, high-pitched ringer sounds and he finds Molly's phone in her bedroom on top of her night stand.

So, she didn't have her phone. This was bad. Sherlock hangs up and starts skimming through Molly's phone, hoping to find evidence of where she's gone. He first checks her texts and discovers a shocking thing, there is a group text, included in it are her parents, sister, cousin, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, and her best friend, Alexia. The text, sent late last night reads "Baby coming. Heading to the hospital."

So, that was the answer to why Molly had been avoiding him and acting strange. All this time she had been pregnant and she hadn't told him. All at once he felt betrayed, hurt, sad, and angry. Why had she kept it from him... did she think he didn't want children? That he was going to leave her? She was stupid if she thought that. He would never dream of leaving her alone, he loved her too much. As for the child? He could learn to accept it. After all, it was his fault.

In one movement, Sherlock finds himself hailing a cab and giving directions to Saint Bart's.

When he gets there, he jumps out of the cab and barges in. He takes the elevator to the third floor and meets the receptionist. "Molly Hooper?" He asks.

The receptionist looks a bit saddened, but then nods his head and says "Room 309."

"Thank you." Sherlock is surprised to find Lestrade, John and Mycroft on waiting benches outside the door. John and Lestrade' s eyes are heavy with grief. Even Mycroft looked saddened. Instantly, Sherlock knows that something is wrong.

"Sherlock, you arrived too late." Mycroft says.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asks.

"She's dead." Lestrade says, anger and grief straining in his voice.

"She's...No...She can't be...No. She's not." He was fighting back the tears threatening to stream from his eyes.

"I'm afraid so." Mycroft replies.

"Just like Mary." John says softly, "the birth was too much for her...for both of them."

"I'm sorry Sherlock." Mycroft says.

Then Sherlock can no longer take it anymore. The part of him that is still a child comes out, and he sinks to his knees, covers his face and starts to cry, losing it. Molly, the sweet, loyal pathologist...His pathologist, Molly, the woman that turned into a blushing school- girl when Sherlock complimented her was gone, and it was all his fault. "What have I done..." Sherlock thinks.

xXx

Sherlock cries for a long time, until finally, he calms down and remains sniffling. He is sitting beside John, who is rubbing his back affectionately, in a caring manner. Lestrade is asleep on Mycroft's shoulder, and the elder Holmes looks deep in thought.

Suddenly, the door to the room opens and a young nurse; a petite, pretty Asian woman, comes out.

"Mr. Holmes?" She asks. Both brothers look up.

"Umm, Mr. Holmes the younger." She adds. Sherlock forces a small smile and tries to blink away his tears.

"The doctor wants you to come in." He looks at his best friend and brother and they nod. Sherlock gets up and shuffles in. The bed is empty, and the room is cool in temperature and covered in flowers, and the curtains are closed, so it is dimly lit, creating a sort of gloomy feel. The doctor, a woman in her thirties with curly brown hair and a friendly face is there, holding a small bundle in her arms.

"I trust you met my assistant, Kristen." She nods to the nurse. "My name is Dr. Emilia Brenner. I am terribly sorry for the loss of your partner, but I do have some good news. The baby is fine, a healthy little girl, weighing in at 7 pounds, 3 ounces. Dr. Watson told me that you are her father."

Sherlock bloody Holmes was at a loss for words at the news. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to be a father...He didn't think he would be good at it. ...He wasn't ready to be a father.

"Would you like to hold her?" Dr. Brenner asks.

"Umm..Yes." Sherlock replies, hesitantly. "Just let me wash my hands." He walks to the sink and scrubs them. Then he puts on hand sanitizer. When he is finished he walks over to the the doctor and she hands him the baby. Sherlock is surprised at how tiny and light she is. She is swaddled in blankets, revealing only her face. Her face is a plain image of Molly, and he almost cries. Her eyes are closed and she is sleeping soundly. He doesn't move because he does not want to wake such a tiny, fragile little human. He just stares down at her. She is beautiful, and so precious, and he can't believe she belongs to him. He takes of her hat. A head of soft, dark curls is on her head. Suddenly she yawns, opening her tiny little mouth, and makes a small little noise. Then she blinks, revealing eyes identical to Sherlock's, green but with a gold colour toward the inside near the pupils. So, she had inherited Sherlock's Heterochromia Iridis. She stares up at him a bit, before she sighs and closes her eyes again. Sherlock is smiling, and there are tears in his eyes again...but tears of joy. He stares lovingly down at the child, with a gentleness in his usually cold eyes. "Maybe you'll grow to match my intellect." Sherlock says to her. Then he sits down on the chair and begins to slowly rock her in his arms and hum softly to her.

* * *

Fun Fact: Benedict Cumberbatch has a disorder in his God damn beautiful eyes called Heterochromia Iridis (when the eyes are different colors) each of his irises has their own unique combination of blue, green, and gold.


	4. Chapter 3

John Watson is stunned when he steps into the hospital room with Mycroft and Lestrade. Sherlock is sitting in the chair by the empty bed. He is holding the newborn girl in his arms and rocking her slowly, humming a lullaby. John almost laughs. Sherlock bloody Holmes, the unpleasant, rude, ridiculous git that he calls his best friend good with children!? John chuckles and shakes his head. Sherlock doesn't seem to notice them as he smiles down at the babe. John clears his throat loudly in the only way he can. Sherlock freezes and looks up. "Hello." Sherlock says quietly.

His friends and brother nod.

John catches sight of the baby and gets a good look at her. She looks like Molly, but with Sherlock's thick, dark curls. She is tiny and precious, and tears prick John's eyes upon seeing her.

"She's beautiful." John says.

"I must say, brother mine, you did well." Mycroft said.

"What a little angel." Lestrade adds.

"I know." Sherlock replies, with a ghost of an authentic smile.

Awkward silence. John clears his throat again.

"Umm...may I hold her?"

"Of course." Sherlock replies.

"Let me wash may hands." John says, going over the sink and washing his hands. He takes the baby up in his arms and rocks her slowly, smiling, but with undertoned grief present there. For both his wife, Mary, and his baby daughter had not survived the birthing process.

The baby yawns and blinks her eyes again. "She has your eyes, Sherlock." John observes.

"Yes, I know." Sherlock answers.

John holds her for a few moments before he passes over to an eager Lestrade.

"She's so precious." Says the DI, "My kids are all grown up." He adds. The baby sneezes three times.

"Whoo, bless you." Says Lestrade with a smile. There's a bit more silence as the four men watch the newborn.

"Do you want to hold her Mycroft?" Lestrade asks.

"Oh...dear me, no, I'm not good with children." Mycroft replies.

"No, he really isn't." Sherlock puts in.

"Pfft. Shut it, little brother." Mycroft snips.

"Mycroft, Is that a way to speak around a child?" Sherlock sneers.

"Be quiet, both of you." John intervenes, "You're bickering is gonna wake her." The Holmes brothers fall silent.

Lestrade looks back up at Sherlock. "You are planning on keeping her, right? I'll let you off the hook for a bit."

Sherlock is silent for a moment as he ponders this question. "I...I don't know if I can be a good father..." He confesses.

"What do you mean?" John demands, "You're so good with her, and you're happy when you hold her."

"I just...My antics aren't really child-friendly." Sherlock persists.

"They're child-like." John mutters.

"Either you keep her or put her up for adoption." Lestrade argues.

"Raising her will keep you from being bored." Mycroft says.

"Look at her," adds Lestrade, "She's a beautiful little thing, it'd be a shame to give her up. And she looks just like Molly." Sherlock's eyes fill with grief.

"She wouldn't want you to give her up," John says sadly, "the reason she didn't tell you was because she was scared of what you would do. And if you're thinking you're gonna just give her up, Molly's worries would be correct."

Sherlock sighs and angrily forces back the tears as he reaches out and takes her from Lestrade, holding her close to his heart, gazing down at her. Molly would want him to raise her. He ponders again as he rocks her.

"I'll tell you what," John begins, "I'm broke. And grief stricken, and I miss spending time with you. I'll move back to Baker Street and you and I will raise her together. I still have all the baby stuff that Mary and I would have used. We can put them in the flat."

"I'll get my movers to assist you, no charge." Mycroft adds.

"And I'll drop in as much as I can." Lestrade says.

"Bargain?" Sherlock says, then chuckles, "I was gonna keep her anyway." He adds. His comrades smile. Suddenly, a loud ear-piercing cry fills the room as the newborn wakes up and starts screaming, fisting her tiny pink hands and shaking them, as well a kicking her feet. Everyone grimaces.

"What? Why is she doing that? John!?" Sherlock exclaims, awkwardly trying to calm her.

John sighs. "It's because she's hungry. I'll warm up some formula." He walks over to the table beside the bed and prepares the formula.

"Well she definitely takes after you with those loud set of vocal chords." Mycroft says over the noise.

Lestrade chuckles.

"Hmmph." Sherlock replies. Then he turns his attention to the screaming child. He puts her up on his shoulder and rubs her back bouncing her.

"Shh, shh. It's alright, we're getting you food. Just be patient." Sherlock says.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" She cries louder.

"And she clearly has your lack of patience." Mycroft adds.

"Shut up." Sherlock says.

xXx

Eventually, John brings the formula, and after giving Sherlock a brief lesson on feeding the baby, the consulting detective is sitting on the chair, holding the little girl across his lap, one arm around her tiny body, pressing her gently against his chest, holding her bottle with the other, as she eats hungrily.

"Jesus, what an appetite." John comments, then he suddenly says, "For God's sakes, she doesn't even have a name yet!"

"Oh, right...any ideas?" Sherlock replies.

"We were going to name ours Lucy."

"Boring." Sherlock replies.

"Emily is kind of pretty." Says Lestrade.

"Yes...maybe." John answers.

"Alanna?" Lestrade suggests.

"Nope." Sherlock replies.

"Millie?" John suggests.

"That's too childish." Sherlock answers.

"Susan?" Mycroft suddenly puts in.

"God no." Sherlock replies.

"What about Kate?"

"After the princess, Lestrade? There are already going to be far too many Kates." Sherlock says.

"Laura?" John says, "that was almost what we chose."

"Laura?" Sherlock repeats, "that's rather pretty." He looks down at the newborn, "Little Laura...I think I can go with that one. Laura Christina Allison Holmes." Sherlock finishes.

"Two middle names?" John questions.

"I have two middle names." Sherlock says, then he added with a sadder tone, "Molly's middle name was Allison and we both always liked the name Christina...why not?"

John shrugs, "Whatever. Works for me."

"Excellent." With that, Sherlock sets Laura's empty bottle on the side table and puts her up on his shoulder and begins to gently pat her back.

xXx

* * *

**A/N: I sincerely apologize if I offended any of you with the name picking. I actually love all those names, but I was just writing in how I thought the characters would react. Again, I sincerely apologize.**


End file.
